


snapshots of a love story

by zayheathers



Category: The Croods (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Idiots in Love, Sharing a Bed, confused baby bottom disaster hope betterman, dedicated specifically to the like five other hugga shippers ily, hope is oblivious until she isn't, it's implied grug + phil are already together and ugga + grug are just friends now, they're so soft, this was meant to be a proper slow burn but I ran out of patience, ugga is extremely chivalrous and doesn't think hope could love her back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:42:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28526415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zayheathers/pseuds/zayheathers
Summary: She never meant to find love, to fall in love. It just happened to her, one moment—one little snapshot—at a time.
Relationships: Eep/Guy (The Croods), Eep/Guy/Dawn, Grug/Phil (The Croods), Hope/Ugga (The Croods), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Ugga Crood/Hope Betterman
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	snapshots of a love story

She remembers when Eep was a cub: a tiny, feisty ball of energy—which was fine when Ugga was younger, fitter, had more of a stamina. But the only person she’d stay still for was her dad, no one else, not even Ugga. She was in his arms for hours at a time, sleeping and babbling, looking for the sun. It was the only place she could sleep.

Thunk could only find peace with his mom, a mama’s boy through and through. Though, she couldn’t stop him from sucking his fingers and toes until he was six, so maybe not such a mama’s boy.

But still, he’d curled into her body whenever he could, wailing whenever she so much as pulled him away to take a breath; always preferring Ugga’s soft warmth to Grug’s overbearing heat.

Sandy was different, restless from the moment she was born, always wanting to run off to catch her siblings. Wildly independent. Neither Grug nor Ugga could get her to stay still for long, let alone lay in their arms, but it honestly hadn’t bothered them all that much. Sandy liked it that way.

Until now.

“Gosh, she’s a little heavy, isn’t she?” Hope says, giving the sleeping Sandy a sweet tap on the nose, “Though, the only baby I can compare her to is Dawn, and Dawn had been a tiny little thing.”

Ugga laughs from where she’s seated beside her at the table, watches as her daughter curls further into Hope’s neck, into Hope’s warm embrace. “She still is.”

“Hmm, that’s true,” the other woman giggles, her hand raising to stroke Sandy’s back, refocusing her attention on the sleeping girl in her lap. “She really is _beautiful_.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Oh,” Hope almost jerks up, voice changing from awe to panic, “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, I mean it’s never a bad thing, but I just meant that she _is_ beautiful and I didn’t mean for it to come out that way—”

“Relax, Hope. I was just kidding,” she chuckles with a grin, and Hope gives her a playfully delicate (even for Hope) shove with her shoulder.

Ugga had been out for the day, helping Grug and Phil with some heavy-lifting, and she’d had to leave Sandy with someone, because even though she’s fine by herself, that doesn’t mean she should be. She’s still a cub, after all.

Her mom was no help of course, because (one) she’s not the most responsible of people, and because (two) she’d find hundreds of ways to terrorise her granddaughter in a matter of minutes. Ugga knows; that is the woman who raised her, after all. Plus, she’d been “busy”—whatever that meant. And Eep had run off somewhere with Guy and Dawn. Which left Hope.

And, really, Ugga’s fine with that. She and Hope are fine. More than fine, they’re… friends. (Okay, that’s a weird word that doesn’t really seem right. But until she can find a better one, they’re friends).

Sometimes they talk about what raising kids is like—how they’re the same, how they’re different. Dawn was apparently a very clumsy child, and Hope, a clumsy parent. Ugga can kind of see it.

Other times, Ugga isn’t really sure what they talk about; the conversation just flows from one thing to another, and it’s nice to finally have someone to have a decent conversation with. 

Before, it used to just be Grug (who isn’t much of a talker), her mom (who talks way too much—mostly about herself), and her kids (which is just weird). So, yeah, it’s nice. And they’re friends.

Besides, she trusts Hope now, too. Once she saw her passive aggressiveness for what it really was—protectiveness—Ugga could understand her more, knew where she was coming from. Sure, Ugga’s never been the overprotective type, but she’s a mother. She gets the whole being scared thing.

Hope still gets paranoid, once in a while.

( _“Ugga, where’s Dawn? I can’t find her, I’ve looked for her everywhere!”_

_“She’s fine. Guy and Eep are with her.”_

_“Oh no, we have to find them. I—”_

_“Hope.”_

_“...You’re right. Eep and Guy are smart people, they know what they’re doing. I should just sit back, a-and relax. Yeah. I can do that.”_ )

But Ugga can pull her out of it pretty quick, and after a while, trusting her with Sandy seemed like a no-brainer. 

Anyways, Hope seems to have dealt just fine. More than fine, if the way Ugga found them had anything to say about it. She’d been singing to herself—to the baby, really—as she organised the dishes with one arm, balancing Sandy on her hip with the other, swaying left to right as Sandy cooed in her long, free-flowing hair (tied down with a band because Hope says it gets hard to manage).

Ugga had found it unbelievably endearing, and had watched them for a while as she enjoyed whatever the feeling coursing through her body was, making her feel light and happy.

( _“Oh, Ugga,” Hope had said, jumping a little—but not enough to jostle Sandy—when she spotted her in the corner, “I didn’t see you there. We were just cleaning up. Isn’t that right, Sandy?”_

_Sandy had gurgled in response, and Ugga had laughed at how cute it was._

_“Well, don’t let me bother you,” she’d quipped, and Hope—as she does most things—had taken it literally._

_“You’re not bothering me at all,” and Hope had said it with such conviction, Ugga didn’t have the heart to tell her that she’d been teasing._ )

“You had fun with her, though,” Ugga says, surprising herself by bringing her out of her own thoughts.

“Yeah, I really did,” Hope sighs, a happy smile on her face. “Though, I didn’t expect her to be so clingy.” She giggles again, giving an adoring look to the top of Sandy’s head.

“She’s not usually.”

“Oh,” Hope says, sounding a little put out.

“But I’m glad she’s clingy with you,” Ugga finishes, and Hope smiles, pulling Sandy closer to her as her skin flushes happily.

* * *

A week or so later finds Hope having a crisis in her bed, Ugga on the other side and Sandy between them.

She’s breathing too hard. She’s breathing _way_ too hard. Her exhales echo around the room, and the bed moves with every inhale she takes. Hope frowns to herself; maybe if she just turns to the left a little, or! Maybe if she breathes out of her nose and in through her mouth, and tries to limit her stomach from rising above her own—

“Hope. Stop thinking.”

Even without looking—Hope refuses to meet her eyes, stare determinedly fixed on the ceiling above her—she can tell Ugga’s positioned to face her, lying on her side. She can tell from where her voice is coming from.

“Hope,” Ugga says again, firmer this time—her voice a mix of tired and a little irritated—and this time Hope turns on her side to face the other woman; she understands the fact that if she doesn’t, she's practically throwing herself to the vulture-rats.

The situation they’re in is strange, she can see it in Ugga’s face, she can feel it in her own mind, but for once, Hope doesn’t actually know what to do with herself, doesn’t know what she’s _supposed_ to do. So she instead fiddles with her hair, and ignores the thoughts in her head that are making in so difficult to sleep. Easier said than done.

“I’m sorry about this, Ugga,” she says.

Ugga shakes her head and frowns. “Hey, don’t apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

_Technically_ , that is true. But... “Well. No. But this is a little awkward.”

“A little.”

Hope laughs softly to herself, turning around again to lie on her back, feeling so… overwhelmed by Ugga’s gaze that she feels like she needs to pull away. Or she’ll drown, o-or burst into flame with all the heat making its way into her cheeks.

She thinks about all the things, all the circumstances that have brought them here, and smiles. “It’s a pity neither of us can deny Sandy anything,” Hope says, but then she realises that that isn’t quite true. “Or I guess, it’s a pity I can’t say no to her.”

That little baby’s the cause of all this, Hope thinks fondly. Asking, oh-so-cutely—with her body-language and no words—if she could spend the night with Hope instead. Which had been fine, of course, but then she had started crying and seething when Ugga had tried to leave after bidding them goodnight, clearly wanting to sleep with her mother beside her, too.

Ugga had looked just about ready to give up and just yell at her the third time she’d tried to walk away when, after one last look at Sandy and Hope’s sad, begging eyes, she suddenly—and very grudgingly—gave in.

(Hope had tried very hard to ignore the look Gran had given the both of them, as they walked into Hope’s room).

“You’re thinking again,” Ugga says in the present, sounding half asleep. A hand lazily finds its way to her, patting her hip comfortingly. “Go to sleep, honey. Your thoughts’ll be here tomorrow.”

Humming in agreement to herself—because she’s sure Ugga’s fallen immediately back to sleep—she smiles. “Okay then,” she whispers, “goodnight. 

She sleeps soundly and wonderfully.

When she wakes, Sandy’s gone (something she isn’t too worried about, since she knows Sandy’s an early-riser—most children are). That’s the first thing she registers, that that tiny baby is no longer right next to her, stealing her body warmth. She’s just about to go back to sleep, catch a few more minutes of shut-eye, when she registers something else.

There’s a solid weight on her waist, warm and comfortable. It’s… nice. Safe. But then she registers who it is.

Ugga holds her tight against her front, and Hope can feel every place their bodies are pressed together. It makes her feel all kinds of warm—brings a heat to her cheeks and to her stomach—and Hope can’t help but let out an accidental and completely unintentional sigh of contentment, some sort of soft pleasure.

The thing is, Hope isn’t completely unaware of herself. She knows, to some extent, why her heart races and her mind slows and her body warms around Ugga. But she really doesn’t have to admit it to herself. Not yet, anyway.

She settles into Ugga’s arms a little more, closing her eyes and letting her breathing lull Hope back to sleep.

The both of them sleep in. They’re late for breakfast.

* * *

Ugga knows, instinctively, that Hope and Dawn are well on their way to their first major argument. It’s been the little things—Dawn pushing back from her mother’s overbearance, searching for independence, and Hope not knowing when or how to let her daughter go—that really tell her that they’re nearing the point where it’ll be the small things that set them off.

It’s been a few months of Hope and Ugga cohabitating, and each night, Ugga watches as Hope gets more and more tense, as the coils of anger and frustration and confusion wind tighter and tighter in her mind. On the days Dawn avoids her, actively tries not to talk to her, Hope draws further away. She always lets Hope sleep in a little longer those mornings after, holds her tighter those nights when she can’t get it out of her brain.

Things blow up on a day (and Ugga doesn’t know whether to be glad or regretful) Ugga’s running errands with Grug and Guy. The three of them come back to yelling and screaming (mostly unintelligible), before whatever argument was being had dies down when Dawn storms off and Hope slinks away. (Phil is nowhere to be found, the coward).

She finds the woman sitting in one of the gardens—legs crossed daintily as she sits on a sitting-log—wiping her tears furiously as Ugga approaches, trying very hard to make it seem like she hadn’t been crying. She understands; everyone’s been there before.

“Hey, honey,” she greets, and Hope looks up, surprised. Her eyes are red-rimmed and the reflective sheen on her cheeks betrays how much she’s cried, but Ugga thinks it just makes her all the more beautiful.

“Hi Ugga,” Hope greets, sounding so dejected. “Should have known you’d come to find me.”

Ugga shrugs, sitting down next to her. The rock that Hope’s sat herself on is really not the most comfortable. (She’ll teach her about finding the good ones at a later time). “Well, I care about your feelings.”

Hope sniffs. “You shouldn’t. I clearly don’t care about other people’s.” She sighs, buries her face in her hands as she groans either in self-pity or self-hatred, Ugga’s not sure—but don’t they all blend together anyway? “I’m a terrible mother.”

“Look,” Ugga says, placing an arm on her shoulder, “you had your first fight with your teenage daughter. It happens.”

“It’s never happened before,” Hope says, indignantly, her voice still sounding a little wet with tears.

“Trust me, it’s a good thing,” Ugga tries, but the other woman just sighs, hanging her head.

“Doesn’t _feel_ like a good thing. I feel _awful_.”

Hope still looks so desperately sad, her face drawn into a pout, so Ugga brings her closer; wrapping her arm around her waist in a way that’s already familiar, already so comfortable, she lets Hope lean her head on her shoulder. 

Finally, she feels her relax, feels her lean her forehead against Ugga’s neck. “You’re not a bad mom,” Ugga whispers to her, wanting to revive the lively and go-getting Hope that she knows so well. “I promise you. This is something we all just have to go through. It’ll pass. But it’ll be worth it, because your relationship’ll end up being so much stronger. Trust me.”

Hope sighs, and Ugga feels the flutter of her eyelashes against her neck as she lets her eyes shut. The smaller woman’s tiny “okay” is all that’s said in a while, until Eep finds them still cuddled together and has enough tact to whisper as she invites them back to the tree for dinner.

Dawn and Hope seem to have made up by the end of the next day. Something everyone is glad for, and the atmosphere returns to easy, laid-back and familial.

“Thank you,” Hope tells her, when they’re alone in what Ugga’s quickly coming to think of as ‘their’ room. She’s brushing her hair, dressed in a simple sleeping robe—exposing more of her legs than usual, something Ugga is curiously distracted by—with her back to the other woman sitting on the bed.

“For what?” Ugga asks, watching Hope single out her grey strands and twist them into a thin braid. She loves Hope’s streak of grey, loves the way her lithe, nimble fingers run through silken hair. Loves her glowing smile when she turns, loves her dimples framing her mouth, loves her sweet, sometimes shrill voice, loves Hope—

_Oh_.

Loves Hope.

“For everything you said,” Hope says, catching Ugga so far off guard, pulling her out of her thoughts (she loves her, loves—). 

Thankfully, she appears not to notice, not as she sits next to her on the bed, their thighs touching and Hope leaning her head sleepily on her shoulder. “I really needed it. And you’re actually really good with the whole inspirational speech thing.”

“Yeah, well,” Ugga jokes, trying to shake herself out of it (Hope, she loves Hope), “when you’ve got three kids, you’ve gotta pump yourself up somehow.”

“Well, thank you.” And it’s so sincere, so genuine and warm and real. (Ugga can feel herself fall further). “And, just so you know, I’ll always trust you. No matter what.”

And she turns away, pulling the blanket over herself as she lies down on her side, looking so beautiful and calm and happy and, yup.

Yup. Ugga’s in love.

* * *

After that argument with Dawn (something that Hope doesn’t like to think about because it still makes her feel sad, feel underprepared and incapable and heartless) things actually move so much smoother. 

She’d been worried, funnily enough, about Ugga—who’d laid stiffly beside her all night, and tried her hardest to not touch Hope at all. It’s a little strange to admit, but Hope’s gotten used to her arms around her at night, protecting her, keeping her safe.

The next morning had been a little better, and while Ugga wasn’t willing to indulge in their morning cuddles, she seemed to get over whatever was bothering her by lunchtime. Thank goodness.

She wasn’t sure how long she could have held out, even though she was a little afraid of asking Ugga what was wrong (being scared of overstepping or putting her entire foot in her mouth.)

Now, a month later, everything’s back to normal, and life is free to go on the way Hope likes it to.

Well, mostly how she likes it to. More than half a year or so after the whole… punchmonkey debacle, they’re still finding pockets of debris all over their home, and she and Ugga are currently working on clearing one Phil found last week. Why he didn’t offer to help is beyond her, instead taking advantage of Ugga’s good heart.

Ugga throws another pile of wood into the large cart they’d made for transporting trash, and Hope watches to make sure no pieces fall out.

Okay, maybe _Ugga’s_ mostly working on clearing the mess. But Hope’s supervising. And keeping her company. Besides, it’s not like she’s much help. She had trouble lifting a travel basket for goodness sake.

So she just looks from a distance, as Ugga picks up heavy object after heavy object, her scar-streaked muscles straining from the effort.

She bites her lip.

“You have… a lot of scars.”

“Oh,” Ugga says, briefly taking a break from her work, looking down at herself. “I guess I do.”

“It’s not— I don’t think it’s a bad thing.” Ugga gives her a look, and Hope quickly continues. “... _Anymore_. I’m just curious, I promise.” Carefully, she walks closer, bringing a delicate hand to rest on her bicep, where one of her more obvious scars rest.

“What’s this one?”

“Uh,” she says, flexing a little so the claw marks are much for defined, and Hope makes a sound in the back of her throat, pulling her hand away quickly. _Where did that come from?_ She knows her face is red. She just knows. “It’s from a vulture-rat, I think. Can’t really remember.”

“Oh,” Hope says quietly, gulping a little. “Oh,” she says again, hoping her voice isn’t actually shaking as much as she hears in her head. “You’re actually quite s-strong. V-very muscular.” Her hand doesn’t go back, but she can feel it wanting to.

Ugga gives her a weird look. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah, totally fine.”

* * *

They go down to the pool after that, hoping to catch Eep and Dawn hanging around there too. When Ugga’d made the suggestion, she thought that maybe a walk would distract Hope from whatever has her so frazzled. Whatever has the red blush painted on her pretty cheeks. 

Just like she guessed, the girls are down there—plus her mother and Sandy—jumping around in the water, playing on the lilypads, and having what appears to be the time of their lives. Eep’s swimming circles around Dawn (which has quickly become another hobby of hers; she changes so fast Ugga has a hard time keeping up).

Her daughter’s swapped her fur pelt for a pair of (apparently) water-resistant pants, and there’s a sort of binding around her chest to keep everything secure; Dawn’s sporting the same getup, and both look carefree, happy and wild in a way Ugga misses. Absently, Ugga wonders if Hope’s ever worn anything like that.

Which is maybe something she shouldn’t think about.

“Hey Mom!” Eep yells, startling her into a grin.

Ugga laughs at how childlike she is, rising up in the water and waving her hand like a crazy person. “Hey Eep, Dawn.” The girl brightens in response, grinning lazily. “Mind if we join you guys?”

“Sure!”

“Yeah!”

Eep wastes no time in dragging her mother in, laughing as she does so, and soon, Ugga is soaked. 

“Eep!” She says, scolding but not really. Her daughter can easily find the teasing look in her eye—she knows because she has the same one.

“Yeah?” Eep says, cheeky, and Ugga rolls her eyes, splashing at her until she’s just as drenched.

She wades towards the nearest lilypad, which happens to be the one Hope lounges on, and rests her arms and head on it. “Ugga,” Hope gasps when water pools on the lilypad, looking annoyed but not really. She’s biting her lip, just a little teasing.

Ugga takes the bait happily. “Mm, yeah?”

“My dress!”

“What about it?”

Hope huffs, and Ugga grins.

“It’s _wet_.”

She looks down at it, raising her brow. The water Ugga had trekked onto the lilypad somehow seeped onto Hope’s dress, colouring the hem a deeper blue than it was. “You don’t say.”

Hope whines again, apparently not being able to help the grin on her face, and bringing their faces closer together when she leans down, her nose wrinkling playfully.

She leans right back, craning her neck forward and meeting Hope, gaze for gaze. Hope’s serious facade soon gives way to a giggle, and they’re laughing as their foreheads rest together.

It’s a strange, heart-stopping moment, one Ugga knows she shouldn’t indulge in, but she can’t help herself. It almost feels like time slows, and she raises a hand to Hope’s neck, their eyes still locked in an intense gaze.

But she forgets, her hand is dripping with water, and the moment some of it falls higher onto Hope’s dress, the spell is broken.

“Ugga, _water_.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

She refuses to believe that the flush on Hope’s face is because of her, doesn't want to let herself _hope,_ ignores the heat in her own belly and the way her heart beats so unbelievably fast.

The best thing is to pretend that didn’t happen. Yeah.

Luckily—she notices as she looks around—everyone else has the sense to do the same thing, too, eyes on the sky or loudly playing their own games.

* * *

“Hey, Ugga,” Hope says as she pokes her head around the door, a little apprehensive, “I brought you food.”

“That’s okay,” Ugga says, and Hope watches as she tries to pull her frown into something a little less broody. It doesn’t work all too well, and the result is just something that just looks like a grimace. “I’m still too angry to eat.”

“And I don’t blame you.” She truly doesn’t. Phil had been rude and mean and condescending, talking about how Ugga wouldn’t understand what he was going on about because her ‘mental capacity was lower’ and how it was just ‘simple evolution’. Both Hope and Eep had had to pull her back so she wouldn’t attack him, even though they'd both been angry on her behalf. “How Phil treated you, that wasn’t okay.”

Ugga just stands there, her arms crossed, silently stewing. Hope sighs, after a year of… whatever their relationship was, she knows this mood. She knows it well, no matter how rare it is.

“Ugga.” She says, walking around to face her. “Ugga, take a breath.”

“You should leave,” Ugga says, and just by the way she says it, Hope knows her jaw is clenched and her teeth grind together. “I’m angry, you shouldn’t have to see that.”

“It’s a part of you,” Hope says. “And I get your anger. Really.”

“It’s just,” the other woman starts, her arms coming away from her body to gesture furiously, “he thinks he’s so smart and advanced or whatever, like he’s better than us. Like I didn’t understand what he was saying! I totally did!” By this time, Ugga’s started pacing, and Hope’s sat herself on the bed, watching. “It’s been a year, how can he still be so stuck-up, narcissistic, undeveloped—ugh! I just—hm, it’s so frustrating!”

She picks up an empty vase made of wood that Hope had strategically placed next to her when she'd come into the room, knowing Ugga would need to get that frustrated energy out somewhere (also known as throwing something), and flings it at the wall. It doesn’t break, as both Ugga and Hope had known it wouldn’t, but it makes a satisfying thump as it hits the floor.

Ugga sighs, leaning her head on the back wall and trying to even out her breathing. “Oh, honey,” Hope says, “come here.” And Hope gets up, wrapping her arms around her neck, letting Ugga’s hands clasp around her waist.

They haven’t done this like this before, not standing up while Ugga’s still cooling her temper from a high point. It’s a bit different, a lot more intense, but she likes the way she can physically feel Ugga calm down.

The other woman’s arms around Hope’s waist tighten as Ugga begins to talk again, but she finds she doesn’t really mind. “And I get it, you know. Believing for so long that cavemen are below you, less intelligence, more brawn—it takes its toll. Gets stuck in your head. I’m just a little mad it’s taken so long for him to barely move at all.”

Ugga buries her face in Hope’s neck, like she does when they’re sleeping, but this time, they’re both awake. Warmth makes its way through Hope’s body, from her legs to her stomach to her chest to her mind, slowing it down completely. She tries not to gasp.

But she has to remind herself, this isn’t about her.

“You’re right. And we’ll talk to him about it, you and me.”

Ugga hums in response, content to just let her forehead stay on Hope’s shoulder, and Hope can feel the vibration of the sound in her bones, making her chest flutter.

Then, somehow, Ugga makes a curious sound, and Hope can feel that she’s thinking about something else entirely. “Your pulse is going really fast.”

_Goodness_. “O-oh?”

“Yeah.” Ugga says, sounding like a person on her way to figure something out. Hope needs to get herself under control. “Yeah, it really is.” She presses her forehead to it, like she’s trying to feel it properly, then her nose, and Hope tries—and fails, if Ugga’s answering noise indicates anything—to stifle a gasp.

“Is this okay?”

“ _Yes._ ”

There’s a breath on her neck next, warm and inviting, and Hope feels herself go _weak_. She can feel herself tense in—she doesn’t even know what. All she knows is that this is a feeling she’ll chase forever.

“What about this?”

“Y-yeah.”

Then there are lips pressing on her pulse point, and it’s all she can do not to lose consciousness. She feels her knees stop working, thinks she’d fall if it wasn’t for the strong arms that wrap around her, something that makes another wave of heat hit her. As it does, she gasps again, makes a noise that could almost be a whimper.

“Are you okay?” Ugga says, and Hope looks up quickly. Her gaze is concerned but heated and intense, and Hope _trembles_ at it. _Goodness._ “Maybe,” she continues, but her voice is rough like sand and Ugga has to clear her throat. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that, I’—”

_But she liked it. Goodness help her, she liked it._

“You did?”

“D-did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah,” Ugga says, a look on her face of nothing other than adoration, of complete and utter endearment, and Hope needs to think. She needs to get this weird substance that’s making it so hard to process thought out of her brain she needs—

“I-I,” she says, stumbling away on still shaky legs, “I need to process.” Hope turns away, towards the door, ignoring the way Ugga’s stare of dejected acceptance tugs at her heart and makes her feel so sad. “I… I need to go.”

Dinner is awkward, as everyone expected, but not because of the argument that had happened earlier. No, Phil seems to be just fine (either pretending or just totally not understanding the consequences of his actions), and Ugga is…

Well, Ugga is distracted.

Her eyes are distant and thinking, and she barely eats. Hope can’t really blame her, she’s got a lot to think about herself.

Other than that, Dinner is a weirdly quiet affair, since everyone (apparently not being able to mind their own business) picks up on the stringing tension between Hope and Ugga.

No one says anything, thank goodness, but she can tell they’re thinking things, which isn’t as comforting.

After dinner, she’s surprised by Ugga’s soft eyes asking her to join her in the room. There’s nothing Hope can do but say yes. Once they’re there, Ugga launches into an apology.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” she begins, standing up as Hope once again sits on the bed, “I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you even though something was clearly wrong and I apologise for that. I’m really sorry, Hope.” 

Hope nods, listening but absentminded. She also has something she’s been wanting to say. “You make me feel safe.”

“Uh,” Ugga looks at her, confused. “Well, the pack stays together so we can stay s—”

“No.” Hope shakes her head, firm because she really, desperately wants Ugga to understand. “You make me feel safe. You, Ugga. You didn’t make me feel uncomfortable, at all. I don’t think you could, because all you do is make me feel safe. I—… I like it when you hold me, a-and touch me…” She pause, continuing breathlessly, in a whisper, “and kiss me.”

Ugga looks at her, dumfounded, but then her expression changes into something more determined. “But I can’t. You don’t get it, it’s not just that I find you attractive, even though I do, I really do. It’s that I like you—no I love you.”

* * *

Her heart could almost burst at finally getting that out there. The truth. It’s finally been said. She loves Hope. She _loves_ hope.

And she’s so relieved that it almost, very nearly distracts her from the reality of knowing that she’s about to be rejected. That Hope will look and her with her pretty blue eyes, full of sympathy and friendship, and she’ll finally say to her—

“I love you, too.”

Well, not that.

“Wait, what?”

Hope sighs at her, giggling a little, and Ugga’s mind doesn’t stop reeling. “I love you, too.”

“Are you sure? Because if you don’t, that’s fine, too. I totally get it, that you wouldn’t like me back—”

“Yes, Ugga,” Hope says, getting up and fondly—but exasperatedy—tucking a strand of hair behind Ugga’s ear. Funny, she hadn’t noticed it tickling her face. “I definitely love you back. I’m sure.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Ugga slumps onto the bed, Hope following without hesitation to sit next to her, their thighs touching. It’s comfortable. Safe. Home. “So, what do we do now?”

And as Ugga says this, the other woman lets out a full laugh, looking so, so happy. Just as happy as Ugga feels, like her mind is a million miles high, and her heart is racing at a thousand metres per second. She’s sure not even her face could hold in her grin.

“Well, Ugga,” Hope says, with a coy and endearing smile (and, god, she loves her smile, loves the way Hope’s delicate mouth curls around the letters of her name, loves Hope), “maybe you could kiss me again…? I don’t know if you could tell, but I enjoyed it a little.”

She grins. “From what I saw, you more than enjoyed it,” she says, making Hope’s face flush red and her teeth draw out to bite her lip.

When she presses her lips against Hope’s, she thinks she finally knows what home tastes like. What life’s hands feel like wrapped around her neck, and what comfort and love feel like when she swings her legs across Ugga’s lap.

Ugga knows that this is a love that won’t fade. Won't change.

She _knows_ it.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ily all!


End file.
